When It's Unexpected
by Twin28
Summary: Unexpected kisses are the best kind
1. Experiments in the Snow

_A/N: This story doesn't take place during or in between any of the episodes. This is a few years after Sherlock comes back with established Johnlock. Reviews are nice, unexpected kisses!_

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John sat in his usual chair in the living room of 221b Baker Street. It was cold outside and it was going to snow, so John planned to spend his day indoors, in his favorite chair, with a hot cup of tea and a good book. His new husband, Sherlock, was out using the bad weather to his advantage in some experiment. Something to do with the freezing rates of multiple liquids in different containers. They had recently gotten a case from DI Lestrade about a missing woman. When the police came to her flat two days ago, as per request from her worried co-worker, they found it to be ransacked. A ransom note was left on the table. Sherlock had been called in almost immediately to investigate, and as soon as they got home Sherlock had gathered his materials and gone outside to start his experiment. John didn't complain about this; after all, this one was outside and didn't involve any dead carcasses that John was aware of. It was a welcome change. The only thing John had asked of Sherlock was that he wore his coat outside. You would think that a grown man would not need reminding about something as simple as wearing a coat when it's cold outside, but then again you don't know Sherlock Holmes. John looked up as he heard the slamming of the door and Sherlock's heavy footsteps on the stairs. The tall man walked through the door and John smiled at him.

"How did your experiment go?" He asked chuckling to himself as Sherlock shook his head to dislodge the snow that had made its home in his hair.

"The blood froze at the exact time I thought it would! This just proves my theory!" Sherlock didn't bother to explain what his theory is, and John didn't ask as Sherlock had pulled out his phone and was texting Lestrade. Sherlock smiled in satisfaction as his phone sent the message. John smiled in response but then frowned in confusion.

"Sherlock, where are your gloves? And your coat for the matter?" Sherlock shrugged in answer.

"I didn't think it was necessary for me to have it." John blinked and Sherlock walked briskly into the kitchen to check some of his refrigerator experiments.

"Didn't think you needed – Sherlock! It's barely 0° out!" Sherlock grunted, his head in the fridge and his attention elsewhere. "Sherlock you must be freezing. Do you want me to make you some tea?" John tried hard to focus on keeping Sherlock from getting hypothermia instead of on his growing annoyance at Sherlock's surprising idiocy. Sherlock waved his hand and said: "Don't bother."

John sighed and put the kettle on to boil anyway. Sherlock shook his head but smiled. When the water was boiled John pulled out two mugs and the tea and poured them both some of the steaming liquid. Sherlock took the mug from John and drank from it, heading towards the living room to check his website for new cases. He set the mug down on the oak table and opened the laptop. John followed Sherlock quietly into the room and as Sherlock sat in his chair he stood behind him.

"Hey, Sherlock?" Sherlock kept his eyes on his computer screen, but turned his head towards John.

"Hmm…?" John leaned in quickly and placed a chaste kiss on his husband's lips. Sherlock looked at him curiously.

"I was warming you up." John explained smiling. Sherlock nodded in understanding, and then bit his lip in thought.

"I'm still kind of cold." Sherlock complained, looking expectantly at his husband. John rolled his eyes and just barely held back a smile.

"You are so needy." John said, before leaning in to kiss Sherlock once more.


	2. When in Sadness

_A/N: I wanted to say thanks for the review posted by . So, thanks! :) If anyone has any ideas for the next chapter, I'm accepting prompts!_

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Chapter 2:

The day was strangely sunny and warm for early February, but you wouldn't hear John Watson complain. The cold weather always gave him a runny nose, so the unusually warm weather was quite welcome. John hummed gaily to himself as he walked from the surgery back to his home on Baker Street. The day had been quiet with only a few people in need of John's help; even then it was nothing too serious, so John had had a pretty easy day.

John continued down the street, his jacket in his hand and watched as a little boy threw a Frisbee with his mother. The little boy threw it just a bit too energetically, and the bright blue toy flew across the small courtyard and hit John on the back of the head. He spun around rubbing his head, and looked as the mother ran towards him.

"I'm so sorry. Are you alright Mr…?" She asked him, looking worriedly at his head. John smiled and waved her off.

"Watson-Holmes." John answered. "No, no I'm fine. Your son's got quite the throw." He joked handing her back the Frisbee. She smiled back at him.

"Mummy, can we keep playing?" The small boy ran up to his mother, looking longingly at the toy in her hand, but he stopped short and hid behind his mother's legs when he saw the stranger in front of her. The woman turned to her son and smiled.

"Of course sweetheart. First you need to apologize for hitting this man." She nudged her son forward and the boy stepped around her legs, up towards John.

"I'm sorry." The boy kept his eyes trained on John's shoes out of shyness, and John knelt down to his eye level.

"Don't worry about it buddy. What's your name?" The boy mumbled his name into his shirt, but after some encouragement from his mother, he spoke louder.

"Junior Joshuas." The boy's mother laughed and ruffled his hair.

"No silly, your name is Caleb Joshuas."

"Yeah, but Daddy always calls me Junior." He tugged on his mother's pants leg, and pointed to the Frisbee. She handed it to him and he ran back to the courtyard, rolling the toy alongside him.

"Caleb is named after his father." Mrs. Joshuas explained to John, who stood up and smiled at her. "He's been encouraging everyone to call him 'Junior' since his father was deployed to Afghanistan four weeks ago." John nodded in understanding.

"I recently came back from Afghanistan. Well, actually it was about three years ago, but it still seems recent." John's eyes glazed over with the memories of his time away from London, but he shook the thoughts out of his head.

"Can I ask you something Mr. Watson-Holmes?" Mrs. Joshuas said to him. He nodded and she pointed to his left hand. "When you were gone, was it hard for your wife?" John didn't bother to correct her about his marriage to another man, instead he thought about her question.

"I wasn't married when I was gone actually, so I can't really relate to that particular aspect." She nodded and her eyes filled with tears. John stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I can't promise it will get easier, and I can't promise that things will get better, but I can promise you this: I have friends who are still deployed in Afghanistan. They are some of the strongest men and women I have ever met. I can promise you that every single one of them will do whatever it takes to bring your husband home; to bring everyone home." Mrs. Joshuas looked at him then hugged him tightly.

"Thank you." John nodded and watched as the woman walked back down the street to continue playing with her son. He sighed to himself then started for home. He wasn't humming anymore.

When John opened the door to 221b Baker Street, something was wrong. He froze in the door way, examining the room and listening for anything that could've been the cause for his uneasiness. After a few moments of pondering John realized what was the matter: the apartment was quiet. There was no scratching as Sherlock wrote down observations for one of his many experiments; no quiet violin notes floating through the air as Sherlock thought about a case; not even the sound of muffled breathing as Sherlock threw himself, face first, onto his favorite couch out of boredom. No sound penetrated the deafening silence that stood stagnant in 221b.

John walked cautiously through the living room looking for any sign of an intruder. When he was satisfied that no stranger had entered the house, John breathed easier and placed his keys on the kitchen table.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you here?" John called. No answer. John bit his lip and walked through the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his husband.

"Sherlock-" John was quiet almost immediately as he walked through their bedroom doorway. Sherlock was fast asleep on their bed. It was quite a funny sight actually. Sherlock had his head on the right pillow with his mouth slightly open. There was a small stack of notes beside him and a pencil was held loosely in is hand. Sherlock had obviously been working on something, but had been so tired, he had fallen asleep while working. He hadn't even bothered to take off his shoes. John smiled, looking on as his husband snored delicately. He kicked off his shoes and climbed quietly into bed next to him, content to curl up next to his sleeping figure. Sherlock stirred sleepily and moved his head to look beside him.

"John…?" He slurred, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on? What time is it?" John smiled and patted down Sherlock's mane of curly hair.

"It's almost six." Sherlock groaned upon hearing this and he sat up quickly.

"I was supposed to be working! Not-" John cut him off.

"Being human and sleeping?" He supplied. Sherlock blinked and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"I don't even remember falling asleep!" He complained, moving his notes and pencil over to his bedside table.

"You were just tired." John said, scooting over and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock sighed exasperatedly, but allowed John to pull him back down onto the mattress.

"I shouldn't be tired; I have things to do!" Sherlock mumbled into John's neck. John chuckled.

"Just because you have things to do, does not mean that your body doesn't need sleep. You're only human." Sherlock mumbled incoherently at the use of the term 'human' but John let it go. Sherlock adjusted his position on the bed and closed his eyes. John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's and did the same, planning to get in a few z's before he was forced to get up and make dinner. Quickly, softly, and unexpectedly, Sherlock's lips were pressed against his. John's eyes flew open just as Sherlock pulled away.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" John asked, smiling at the look on Sherlock's face.

"You seemed down." Sherlock said, matter-of-factly. "What happened?"

"Like you haven't already figured it out." John said, winking. "It was just a woman I talked to on the way home. Her husband was recently deployed. It was hard seeing her like that. I don't even know her, but it was obvious how worried she was. Her son was taking in hard too, and he looked to be only about 6! It just makes me think back to how my family was when I was deployed; how hard it was coming home when I knew that some of my friends wouldn't _ever_ come home again. It's so painful to think about, to remember."

John closed his eyes hard, and he felt Sherlock move closer and hold him tight. John let only a few tears escape his eyes before holding back his emotions. It wouldn't accomplish anything other than make Sherlock's shirt wet.

"I'm sorry John. I'm so sorry." Sherlock said. John nodded into his shoulder and felt immediately grateful for the man in his arms.

"I love you Sherlock." He said quietly.

"I love you John."


	3. Dumpster Diving

_Reviews are unexpected kisses!_

Chapter 3:

Sherlock was exhausted. For the past two weeks he had been working on a particularly interesting case involving the gruesome murder of one of Mycroft's men who was stationed in France. Sherlock and John had been woken in the middle of the night by a burly man (obviously working for Sherlock's annoying 'twat' of a brother) who had two plane tickets in his hand and packed suitcases. The two had flown to France and had been there for a little over two weeks. Finally after much running around Paris, the murderer (who had turned out to be the jealous 'best friend') was caught and placed behind bars, and John and Sherlock were shipped back to London. It wasn't that Sherlock was annoyed by his busy schedule or unused to it; quite the contrary. Sherlock lived for excitement and adventure, and he was happy to have been given such an interesting murder. John was just happy that Sherlock wasn't bored. He had begun to fear for the health of their wall.

Though Sherlock was happy for his project, it had left him unpleasantly drained of energy; something he was not used to. He sighed in relief as the taxi he was in pulled up outside of 221b Baker Street. John looked over from his seat by the window and smiled at Sherlock.

"I didn't think that you would be happy to be home." He mused, paying the cabbie and stepping out of the car. Sherlock grabbed their bags and followed John up the stairs, into the main bedroom of 221b.

"Neither did I." Sherlock said, placing their suitcases on the bed and pulling out his dirty laundry. John pulled out his laptop and placed it on the desk. "Interesting case though." Sherlock commented. John snorted and opened his computer, logging in without a glance at Sherlock. Sherlock sighed loudly and impatiently.

"Look, I said I was sorry okay?" John just shook his head, saying nothing. Sherlock slammed his now empty suitcase closed and glared at his husband. "I'm sorry you fell into that dumpster alright?!" John looked up from his typing and narrowed his eyes.

"Fell?" He repeated. "I didn't fall, I was _pushed_!" Sherlock shrugged and placed his suitcase in the closet.

"It wasn't my fault." He said, his voice slightly muffled by the wall. John started.

"Wasn't your fault?! _You_ were the one who pushed me!" John accented his anger by slamming his laptop closed and walking out the door towards the kitchen in search of something to drink; laptop in hand. Sherlock sighed and followed him quickly.

"It was for the sake of the case! If the murderer thought our alliance was weakening, then his defenses would drop!" Sherlock called, standing in the doorway as John pulled out a glass and filled it with water.

"And you thought that the best way to pretend our 'alliance was weakening' was to push me into a dumpster?" John asked, his eyebrows rising in a way that made Sherlock's heart skip a beat, despite the fact that John was clearly annoyed. Sherlock swallowed.

"Obviously." John shook his head sadly and paced over to the living room, intending to type up their latest case. Sherlock slumped a moment before following him. It was going to take some groveling to get on John's good side.

"John, I'm very sorry. I'm very, _very _sorry. Would you…" He hesitated, both gauging John's reaction to his words and holding back his annoyance at what John was making him do. "Would you forgive me? Please?" John looked up from his laptop, expressionless, then went back to is typing. Sherlock bit his lip and looked at his infuriatingly handsome husband. This was going to take more work than he originally thought.

"John, you are amazing! You are fantastic! You are the most wonderful man I have ever met! You grace the world with your presence!" John snorted, but continued to type, turning so that Sherlock only saw his back. This did not deter the consulting detective however. Sherlock walked over to his blogger and placed his chin on his shoulder.

"You are perfect! You are talented! You-" Sherlock paused and wrinkled his nose. "You smell like garbage." At this, John lifted his head and stared straight forward.

"Gee, I wonder why." He said, throwing daggers at Sherlock with his eyes. He shook his head and stood up, saving his typing progress as a document; he wasn't quite ready to blog yet. "I'm going to shower. Try not to burn down the flat while I'm in." Sherlock watched as John walked down the hall to their shared bathroom. As the door closed, Sherlock sighed dramatically, effectively blowing strands of hair across his face, and plopped down in the chair John had just vacated. The sound of the pipes squealing in protest as John tried to coax hot water out of them, reverberated around the flat. Sherlock sat in the chair and thought, listening to the sound of Mrs. Hudson below them, banging around in her kitchen; probably baking another one of her lemon pies.

Sherlock stood up and walked into his bedroom, sitting heavily on the bed just as John walked in, a towel around his waist. Sherlock didn't move or acknowledge John's entrance, and John just shook his head. John quickly changed into his cotton pajama bottoms and white t-shirt. He looked at Sherlock, who remained stationary.

"Aren't you going to get changed?" He asked, throwing his towel into the basket in the corner of the room. Sherlock grunted, rolled off the bed, and shed his button up shirt. John walked to the mirror and brushed his hair as Sherlock reluctantly changed his clothes. Sherlock never really understood what all the fuss was about clothes. How some clothes had to look good on some people, how some clothes were to be worn at a certain time of day or a certain event; it never made sense to him. He couldn't see why everyone wouldn't just walk around naked. It would make the world so much simpler. John flipped on his side lamp and crawled under the covers as Sherlock turned off the main light and walked to his side of the bed. Sherlock lay down and stared at the ceiling. He could feel John breathing beside him and knew he was wide awake, despite his attitude. Sherlock flipped onto his side suddenly and faced John, who didn't move. Sherlock leaned in and kissed his husband softly on his neck.

"I really am sorry you know." Sherlock whispered, his deep voice vibrating against John's skin. John sighed and turned to face Sherlock.

"Yeah, I know. I forgive you. Just, promise me you'll give me a warning next time?" He asked. (Little did John know that three weeks later, while in pursuit of a notorious jewelry robber, Sherlock would seize the opportunity to push John into a large swimming pool to cause a distraction. Of course Sherlock kept his promise. He yelled 'warning!' about a second before pushing him. But that's another story.)

"I promise." Sherlock said. John smiled and placed his lips softly on Sherlock's. Sherlock sighed in contentment, and pulled John up against his chest. John rubbed his head on Sherlock's arm, but Sherlock jerked away quickly.

"Don't do that, your hair is wet and it's making my shirt damp." John chuckled, but continued to snuggle up to Sherlock's chest, despite the grumbles.

"Serves you right." John mumbled, closing his eyes. "At least it isn't garbage


	4. Problems in 221b

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed or added this story to their favorites list! I got all warm and fuzzy :) It will probably be a few days before I update again. If anyone has any prompts, feel free to leave it in a review or to PM me!_

Chapter 4:

There was a problem. A big problem in Sherlock's eyes. He sat in his chair, fingers drumming and feet twitching, contemplating whether to do something. After just thirty seconds, Sherlock cracked and ran across the kitchen, grabbed his mobile phone, and frantically dialed John's number.

"Hello?"

"John. There's a problem." Sherlock spoke calmly, his tone not betraying anything serious.

"Sherlock? Is that you?" John spoke quickly into is receiver; obviously Sherlock had disturbed him at work. So that's where John went…

"Yes. We have a problem, John."

"What's the problem? Really think Sherlock, is this serious? I'm right in the middle of something here." Sherlock sighed and looked over towards the kitchen counter.

"No, I guess it's not serious. Never mind. When will you be home?" Sherlock asked, his thoughts going back to his boredom.

"I'll be home in an hour. I love you Sherlock."

"Love you, John." Sherlock hung up the phone and sat down in front of his experiments. It was acting different, and Sherlock couldn't figure out why. He asked John what he thought of it, only to realize he wasn't here. Oh well. John said he would be home in an hour, so the experiment could wait until then.

John was finishing up the last of his paperwork. He sighed, signing his name at the bottom of a patient's prescription paper, then grabbed his coat and walked out the door. The evening was cool and crisp, so John wrapped his coat and scarf around him more tightly. He decided to splurge for the evening, and called over a taxi. When he got into the car he gave his address and waited as the city flew by passed his window. Suddenly, John's pocket vibrated. Oh, it was his phone. John looked down and pulled it out.

**Baker Street. Come at once, if convenient**

**-SH**

John laughed a little to himself, remembering the last time Sherlock had sent him that message. John clicked his phone and typed back a message.

**I'm on my way now. I'll see you in a few.**

John's phone buzzed again.

**On second thought, why don't you go out for something to eat? My treat. I'll meet you at the restaurant.**

**-SH**

John frowned. This was really out of character for Sherlock. Anyhow, it was too late. John looked up as the cab slowed down, then froze. There was a police car with flashing lights outside of their home on Baker Street, with a fire-engine next to it. John could see Mrs. Hudson sitting on the steps and Sherlock standing next to her, his hand on her shoulder. He was arguing with Lestrade. Well, that explained the police car. John threw some money at the cabbie and bolted out of the door. Sherlock looked up at the sound of the door closing and caught eyes with John. John ran up next to him, panting slightly.

"Sherlock, what happened?" He spoke loudly, causing some of the officers standing near the police car to turn around and stare. John turned slightly pink, but kept his ground. Sherlock sighed.

"There was a problem. I told you this before."

"When you called me on the phone? Sherlock you said it wasn't serious!" John practically yelled at Sherlock, whose face remained passive.

"Well, it wasn't serious when I called you." Sherlock looked at John with his 'we both know what is going on here face'. Lestrade groaned, Mrs. Hudson said 'oh, honestly!' and John placed his head in his hands. "It wasn't!" Sherlock protested. "I was doing an experiment and it was acting weird. The beaker was getting unnaturally hot. I thought it was just the temperature on the electric Bunsen burner, but now that I think about it, there was probably some ammonium perchlorate left over in the beaker…"

"Oh Sherlock!" John rubbed his temples and looked at Lestrade. "What's the damage?" Lestrade checked his pocket notebook and rubbed his left eye.

"Nothing too bad. Your floor got a little burned around the counter, and the window in the kitchen got busted." John groaned into his hands. The window could be easily restore, but the entire kitchen floor would have to be mended. No service would cut out the part where the burn was and then replace just that. It was impossible. John frowned and looked up at Sherlock.

"Wait, I can understand the floor burns, but how did the window break? Ammonium perchlorate shouldn't be heated, but the resulting explosion wouldn't be big enough to break through the window…" Sherlock looked at John and beamed.

"Well done John! You've actually remembered a chemical reaction! Interesting…" Sherlock put on his 'this would make a good experiment face' but John stopped his thought process.

"Sherlock, you're stalling. How did the window break?" John walked and stood in front of Sherlock, who was currently staring into space. Sherlock looked at his husband and John could've sworn he saw a hint of embarrassment in the consulting detective's eyes.

"I was annoyed when the ammonium perchlorate exploded, so I reacted badly." Sherlock rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"What do you mean, you reacted badly?" John asked slowly, his eyes narrowing. John saw Mrs. Hudson rub her eyes tiredly out of the corner of his eye.

"I…" Sherlock hesitated but then decided that he better tell John. "You know the candlestick that sits on the counter?" John nodded slowly, not liking where this was going. "Well, I threw it at the window when the ammonium perchlorate exploded." John just stared at him, his jaw hanging slightly open. "All of my data was ruined! Even the data that I have from the beginning is wrong! The ammonium perchlorate skewed my results so now I have to do it all over again!" Mrs. Hudson moaned from her perch on the stairs and placed her head in her hands.

"Oh Sherlock, honestly!" John pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched up his eyes, breathing in and out deeply through his mouth. He opened his eyes and Lestrade patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

"There isn't anything more we can do here. We're going to take off." He leaned in closer to John so Sherlock couldn't hear him. "I understand you're mad, but I don't want to come back here on counts of disturbing the peace. Keep the yelling to a minimum, yeah?" With that, he got into his police car, the rest of the officers in tow. John helped Mrs. Hudson off of the stairs, and led her to her flat, mumbling apologies to her; Sherlock followed behind, seemingly unaffected by any of this.

Once John and Sherlock had gone up to 221b, Sherlock went to the kitchen to tape a trash bag over the empty window pane, and John collapsed into his favorite chair, rubbing his eyes. Once Sherlock was finished, he walked over and hugged John from behind. John stiffened.

"Sherlock, I'm not in the mood right now!" He said, shrugging off Sherlock's embrace.

"But I'm bored!" Sherlock complained, his shoulders falling as he switched into pout mode.

"Well what a pity for you! Me, I'm not bored at all! I'm trying to figure out how we are going to replace the bloody floor!" John snapped at Sherlock and stood up, walking to the kitchen to inspect the damage. It was just as he imagined. The wooden floor was blackened all around the back end of the counter, and there were ugly scar marks off to the right. John placed his head in his hands, moaning about how he wished he could sell Sherlock to pay for the damages. Sherlock didn't respond so John walked to the refrigerator to see what he could make for dinner. He decided upon a ham sandwich, both because it was easy and didn't require any cooking, and because it was one of his favorites; he used to eat them constantly when he was little. That and peanut butter sandwiches. Once the familiar meal was made, he carried it, along with the day's newspaper, into his bedroom, intending to eat as far away from Sherlock as possible. Though Lestrade had been joking, his warning was echoing in John's head. John sighed and sat down on his side of the bed, taking a bite out of the sandwich and unfolding the newspaper.

He skimmed over an article on an upcoming movie, quickly read an article on the opening of an art museum not far from Baker Street, but paused when he reached the third page.

_Famous Private Detective Solves Another Case!_

It was an article on Sherlock and their latest case; the one in France. Though it didn't go into details about the man who was killed for obvious reasons (Mycroft had him working on something top secret) it did talk about the 'amazing detective work by Sherlock Holmes-Watson and his perfect match and coworker John Watson-Holmes". John sighed, placing the half eaten sandwich on his bedside table, and the newspaper in his lap. He skimmed through the article, shaking his head at the constant commentary of the journalist, but he stopped about halfway through the paragraph. There was a picture of the two of them, running down the street after the murderer. They were running hand in hand. John smiled and chuckled lightly to himself. This picture had been taken right before Sherlock shoved John into the dumpster.

"What's so funny?" Sherlock asked from the doorway. John jumped slightly; he hadn't heard him come in. He lifted the newspaper to show Sherlock.

"It's this article. There's a picture of us in it." Sherlock walked over and took the paper from John's hand. Instead of looking at the picture John however, he looked at the real life, living and breathing John in front of him.

"I have some money in my saving's account we can use." He said, trying to hold John's gaze. John had leaned over to get his sandwich again.

"Hm?" He asked.

"For the floor." Sherlock clarified. "I wasn't saving the money for anything inparticular, so it will be fine to use it on the floor." John looked up from the last bits of his sandwich, to stare at Sherlock.

"Thank you." He said, getting up to hug Sherlock.

"I'm sorry I burned the floor and broke the window." Sherlock said. Actually he wasn't sorry at all about the mess; they could be easily cleaned up. John didn't need to know exactly how much money he had saved in his account at the bank. He was however sorry that he had caused John stress and grief.

"It'll be okay Sherlock." John said, giving his husband a squeeze. "Just be more careful alright? It's not like you to forget to wash your beakers." John paused and pulled away to look at Sherlock. "Actually, it's not like you at all. What had you so distracted that _you_ would forget to do something?" Sherlock shrugged noncommittally.

"I was bored." He answered simply. "And I missed you." John smiled and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Sherlock full on the mouth. Sherlock responded enthusiastically then pulled away to look at John.

"Does this mean you're not mad?" He asked, still unsure about the whole 'forgiveness' aspect of relationships.

"Yes I forgive you." John rolled his eyes. "Just, please Sherlock, if you value my sanity, be more careful!" Sherlock nodded.

"I'll try."


	5. The Dumb Numb

_A/N: First I wanted to say thanks to everyone who has Reviewed, Followed or Favorited! This story was inspired by my trip to the dentist's office this morning. My lisp still hasn't gone away... If you get confused while John is talking, just know that where there should be an 's' in the word, there is a 'th'. _

John glared at Sherlock and shook his head slowly. Sherlock didn't move from his perch on the arm of the sofa John was currently occupying. John shook his head again.

"You can do that as long as you'd like, it's not going to stop me." Sherlock said, leaning in close to his husband's face, clipboard in hand. John wrinkled his nose and leaned back, turning so Sherlock could only see his back. Sherlock sighed.

"Don't be like that! This is great for observations." He poked at John's right cheek. John didn't react or move. Sherlock smirked. "If not just a little amusing." He continued. John noticed Sherlock's hand in his peripheral vision and slapped at it, glaring again.

"Why won't you say anything to me?" Sherlock asked. John gave the consulting detective a look that clearly said 'you bloody well know why!' In fact, Sherlock did know why John wasn't speaking to him. It had started early that afternoon.

* * *

John had left the office at noon to go to the dentist. He had a small cavity in one of his right molars, and it needed to be filled. Around 1:30, Sherlock had gotten a text from John asking for him to take a taxi to the dentist's office and pick John up. Confused, but happy for a distraction to his boredom, Sherlock got into a cab and went to get his husband. He found John waiting in the lobby of the dentist's office with a bag of ice on his cheek and a receptionist looking at him worriedly from behind the desk. John looked up at Sherlock's entrance and waved over to the receptionist. He nodded fervently and walked over to Sherlock, the receptionist following him.

"You must be Mr. Holmes-Watson." She said fiddling with a ring on her left hand. New ring. Left hand. Ah, an engagement. Sherlock looked at her.

"Yes I am. Might I ask what you have done to my husband to make him unable to take a taxi home safely?" Sherlock spoke with a little too much aggression in his voice. John waved spasmodically to get Sherlock's attention and gave him a look that said 'be civil!' The receptionist sighed.

"Well, when Dr. Watson-Holmes came in to get his cavity filled we gave him the normal numbing treatment. Gel, then the actual shot. When the cavity was about to be filled, the numb started to wear off, so we had to give him another shot." Sherlock cocked his head questioningly.

"The anesthetic doesn't affect a person's normal brain function. Why wasn't he able to take a cab?" At this point, John placed his head in his hands. Sherlock looked at him, at first thinking it was out of exasperation, but soon deduced that it was out of embarrassment.

"He tried to call a cab. When it pulled up, he tried to tell the cabby where to go, but he couldn't understand him. Dr. Watson-Holmes thought it would be better to just wait here for you to come and get him." Sherlock nodded.

"I see. Are you all right John?" He said, turning to his husband. John shrugged vaguely. Sherlock went out and got them a cab, and then they drove back to 221b Baker Street.

* * *

Currently Sherlock was trying to see the extent of the anesthesia.

"John, this won't help me at all if you refuse to talk. It's okay that you sound funny, that's the whole point of these observations!" John huffed. Sherlock didn't even deny that John sounded strange. Well, who could? At least he wasn't laughing.

"Now," Sherlock said, tapping his clipboard for attention. John shook his head and turned to face the consulting detective. "I just need you to say 'She sells sea shells by the sea shore'. Do you think you can do that?" John sighed and opened his mouth. Well, he tried to. Only the left side would cooperate.

"She thellths thea shellths- No, you know what? Thith is rediculouths!" John stopped talking quickly and crossed his arms. Sherlock wrote down his observations quickly.

"No, no really! That was great! Fantastic!" John didn't look convinced.

"I thsound like Chriths Eubank." John complained, walking over to the kitchen to get some water. Sherlock followed him.

"Chris Eubank? Who's he?" Sherlock asked, watching as John filled his glass with water. John shook his head.

"Never mind." John tried to take a sip from the cup, but some of the water dribbled down his chin and left damp marks on his shirt. John looked down and sighed, placing the glass in the sink. Sherlock quickly wrote down John's mishap on the observations paper. Sherlock looked up from his scribbling and realized that John had left the kitchen and was heading towards their bedroom; presumably to get a new shirt.

"John, I don't understand what's so wrong about you speaking to me! I've been bored all day, and then as soon as you come home, you refuse to stop my boredom by talking to me!" He threw himself down on the bed dramatically and stared at his husband. John was bare-chested and looking through their closet to find a decent shirt.

"I thound rediculouths!"John called from the closet. "I can't feel my tongue, and half of my fathe ithn't moving when I thpeak! I'm not trying to be mean to you Therlock, I jutht don't feel like thwallowing my tongue." Sherlock sighed. He didn't realize that it was possible for John to be so insecure in his own house. He walked across the room and stood behind John, who was about to button up his shirt.

"There's no reason for you to be insecure." Sherlock said, wrapping his arms around his husband. John sighed and relaxed into Sherlock's embrace. "Besides, it's kind of cute." Sherlock said, leaning down and placing a kiss on John's cheek. John's shoulder's fell.

"Therlock, you do realithze that I can't feel anything on that thide, right?" Sherlock froze, then picked up where he left off on John's left cheek.

"Sorry." He said. John chuckled. "It should wear off in a couple of hourths." He said, buttoning up his shirt all the way and tossing his wet one in the dirty clothes basket. Sherlock's eyes brightened.

"Does this mean that I still have a few more hours left of observing? With your permission, of course." He said, regaining his composure. John shrugged.

"I wath thinking that that meant you only had to wait a few more hourths before you could actually kiths me, but if you want to obtherve my temporary lithp inthtead, be my guethst." John said. Sherlock sat down on the bed again.

"Oh, can't I have both?" He pouted, looking at John. John chuckled.

"Fine. Tho long ath you promith not to make fun of me later." Sherlock smiled.

"Wouldn't dream of it."


	6. Facing Hate

_A/N: Sorry for such a wait between chapters! So much has been going on! This chapter is a little more somber than the others, but I promise fluff in the next one!_

Chapter 6:

John stood up and stretched. He walked over to the window, pulled aside the curtain and smiled. It was sunny out with hardly a cloud in the sky. He turned to his husband who was curled up on his favorite couch thinking about their last case. John walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock, do you want to go out for a walk with me?" He asked. Sherlock blinked and was brought back into reality, out of his mind palace.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" John smiled a little, but shrugged.

"Well, I guess you don't have to come if you don't want to." He said, walking back over to his chair, his shoulders slumping in a way that tore at Sherlock's heart strings. John pulled out his laptop, not noticing Sherlock walking quickly to their bedroom. John opened his blog and smiled. Mrs. Hudson had already commented on his last post. He opened the box to respond, but was suddenly pulled out of his chair.

"Sherlock, what are you-" Sherlock smiled and handed John his coat.

"We're going for a walk." John smiled and kissed his husband.

"Well come on then. Let's go." John and Sherlock walked out, hand in hand, as the door to 221b Baker Street closed behind them.

Though neither Sherlock nor John said anything, they found themselves heading toward the park. The day, though sunny, was rather nippy and John was thankful for his coat around his shoulders and Sherlock's warmth beside him. After a few minutes, they stepped over the curb and into the grass of the park, which was mushy and wet thanks to the recent rain and snow. John paused and looked around him. Children were bundled up and playing tag, kicking footballs and throwing Frisbees. The wind was particularly strong today and it whipped the tree branches to and fro. Sherlock made an annoyed sound and John glanced up. Sherlock was fighting a losing battle with a stray curl. The wind whipped it out of place and just as Sherlock would fix it, the wind would move it again. John laughed. Consulting Detective vs. Nature.

"Here, I've got it. Hold on." Sherlock brushed his hand away.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. Our height differences are great enough that by 'helping' you would only succeed in causing more damage." Despite Sherlock's tone, John had to laugh.

"I've never known you to be so concerned about your hair." Sherlock huffed but John continued to chuckle. The wind whipped his hair again, but with it came a stray leaf. After promptly slapping him across the face, the leaf made its home in Sherlock's curls. Sherlock frowned and glared at the accursed thing, however he was unable to see it clearly and just ended up looking cross-eyed. At this point John lost it. He laughed loudly with tears streaming down his face. He sat down hard on the bench closest to them, not trusting his own legs to support him, and pulled his greatly annoyed husband down beside him.

"Y-your face…!" John lost it again and leaned into Sherlock for support, his body shaking with the force of his laughter. At this point they had gained the attention of other park attendees, but John didn't notice and Sherlock didn't care.

"Oh yes. Very amusing." Sherlock pursed his lips and John pulled himself together.

"Hold still, I'll get the leaf." There wasn't that much of a height difference as they were sitting, so John was easily able to dislodge the leaf. "Be free." He said, flicking the leaf away and watching it as it caught the breeze. He turned to Sherlock, who kept his former annoyed expression. John sighed.

"Oh, don't be like that Sherlock. It was _funny_!" Sherlock's expression softened and John rested his hand on Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock leaned into his touch.

"Well, on the bright side, I made you smile." Sherlock smirked as he said this and leaned in for a kiss, but the moment was broken when a Frisbee flew in and clonked John on the side of the head.

"Ouch." John mumbled, pulling away from Sherlock who sighed impatiently. John picked up the toy from by his feet and held it out to the boy who was running towards them. The little boy (who Sherlock deduced to be about 6) froze as his mother called to him. She ran over with her husband close at her heels and scooped up the little boy, moving him away from Sherlock and John.

"Don't touch that Billy!" She said, checking his hands. "You'll catch and disease!" John frowned.

"It was only on the ground for a moment. I hardly think-" John was cut off by the husband.

"We don't want your opinions! We're trying to keep you from turning our son gay!" John opened his mouth but no sound came out. Sherlock froze. The horrid man in front of them looked around at the playground.

"Don't tell me you two actually were allowed to have a child!" His wife gasped and pushed her son behind her legs, shielding him with her body. "You disgust me!" With that, the man spit on the ground by John's feet and turned to leave. Sherlock stood up calmly, but a raging anger was clear behind his eyes.

"So, when are you going to tell her?" He called. The man spun on his heels.

"What are you talking about?!"

"Your wife." Sherlock responded. "When are you going to tell her that the reason you don't talk to your best friend anymore is because he came on to you, and you didn't stop him?" The woman's jaw fell open in horror as she turned to her husband. The man's eyes widened in shock, but he had no response, so he turned and continued to walk away. Sherlock watched until they had left, then turned to John.

"Let's go home. I don't want to be out here anymore." John nodded and followed Sherlock back to Baker Street. This time, they weren't holding hands.

The door to their flat closed loudly behind them and John walked into the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock threw his coat and scarf angrily onto his chair and paced the living room, pulling on his hair in frustration. Why did this have to happen to them? Actually, it wasn't himself he was worried about. God knows how often he had been ridiculed and made fun of in his life. He was worried about John. When they had first started dating, Sherlock had vowed to shield John from all the hate that was bound to be thrown their way. The world was, and still is, an unforgiving place; Sherlock knew that better than most. That's why he was the way he was; practically unfeeling until John came and brightened his world. John could _never_ end up like that. But now, Sherlock was forced to realize that he had failed. He hadn't kept all the evil of the world away from John.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" John asked, walking in the room with two mugs of steaming tea. Sherlock started. He had gone to his mind palace without being fully aware of it. John could see every emotion playing out on his face. Sherlock wiped his expression and took the tea from his husband.

"Thank you." They sat down on the couch, John limping ever so slightly. Sherlock stared at John and spoke.

"John I'm-" He took a deep, shaky breath and continued. "I'm so, very sorry about what happened today." John paused in the act of sipping his tea.

"Sherlock, why are you apologizing?! Don't apologize! You weren't the one who said such awful-" John couldn't finish his sentence. His eyes welled up with tears and his hand flew to his mouth to hold back a sob.

"John-?!" John didn't hold back his feelings any longer. He began to cry.

"I- I tried to pretend that their words did-didn't hurt me but," He sniffed and wiped his eyes, though that did nothing to stop the stream of tears running down his face. "But it _did_ hurt. God, Sherlock it hurt _so badly_!" John sobbed and Sherlock pulled him into his chest, hugging him tightly. He rubbed his hand on John's back and held his breath, trying not to cry himself.

"Don't listen to them John! Don't do it!" Sherlock said quietly but sternly. "They're ignorant and horrible and not worth your emotions! Don't even think for a second you are disgusting, just for falling in love!" John sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"That wasn't what hurt me." He said, looking Sherlock in the eye. He paused before speaking, noticing that Sherlock's eyes were pink around the edges. Sherlock had been crying. Sherlock never cries. John leaned forward and kissed his husband on the forehead before speaking.

"It's what they said about us having a child." John took a shaky breath, but a few tears still escaped.

"We don't have a child John." Sherlock said, frowning.

"I know but, the horror and-" John paused looking for the right word. "Just _hate _coming from those people because they _thought_ we were raising a baby it just-" John closed his eyes and breathed deeply again. Sherlock took John's hands in his. "I'm scared, Sherlock. I'm so scared." Sherlock started. He had never known John to be scared. At least, not scared of anything like this.

"You don't have to be scared." John looked up at his husband. "Being scared has never stopped us before. We just have to stay strong. We can get through this. I promise."

"The world is such a horrible place sometimes." John said, rubbing his eyes.

"It can be wonderful too." Sherlock said lightly. "And I've got proof." John looked at him curiously. Sherlock got up quickly and walked out of the room and down the hall to their bedroom. John frowned and relaxed back onto the pillows, waiting. He could hear the sounds of drawers being opened and shut and Sherlock rummaging around for something. After about a minute, Sherlock came back into the room, something in his hand. He sat down and handed a small piece of paper to John. John stared at it. It was a picture of the two of them, holding hands, standing on the platform after being married. It was a beautiful, outdoor wedding. The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. John looked dashing in his white suit and Sherlock looked equally as handsome in his matching black one. They were beaming, both happier than anyone had ever seen them. Molly was behind them with Mrs. Hudson, crying profusely into their bouquets of lilies. Mycroft stood to their left, trying to subtly wipe his eyes with a silk handkerchief. John smiled at the picture.

"Is that proof enough for you?" Sherlock asked. John nodded and kissed his husband passionately.

"Thank you Sherlock. I love you so much."

"I love you too John. More than you know."


	7. A Question

Chapter 7:

John paid the taxi driver and stepped out of the cab and up to the front doors of the large shopping complex. Sherlock sighed and stood next to John.

"Is this really necessary?" He asked watching a hassled looking mother push a cart filled with two screaming children and lots of diapers out of the store. John grabbed a cart and took Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock, if we don't get food soon, we'll starve. There is literally no food in the house." He took the moment to look reproachfully at his husband. "We wouldn't have to shop today if you hadn't used the last of our canned foods as toys." Sherlock shrugged.

"It was an experiment."

"What kind of an experiment was that? You shot canned beans through a potato shooter, out the window, at Greg and me!" Sherlock smirked ever so slightly at the memory of their faces.

"I was aiming for Anderson." He said, walking through the automatic sliding doors alongside John.

"Well, you missed! I had to wash my hair three times before all that goop came out. It still smells like baked beans…" He mumbled ruefully as they entered the store. Sherlock sighed dramatically and dragged his feet behind him like a child.

"I still don't understand why we have to come _here_!" He complained loudly looking around him in disgust. To their right was a couple oohing at a big screen television. John followed Sherlock's gaze.

"She's dating him for his money; he's dating her as a rebound. Obviously." John shook his head and ignored what his husband had deduced.

"The reason we're shopping here is because I have other things besides food that I wanted to look at, and here I can get it all done in one swoop." John led Sherlock down the aisle and over to the produce section. Ignoring Sherlock's outbursts of 'oh John, you really want that vegetable?' and 'John I don't like that one; it's all green' John managed to fill the cart with the food that they would need for the week.

The lines for the south end checkout were longer than expected so John led Sherlock around the mass of people and towards the north end checkout center. Sherlock was about halfway down an aisle that he only took the time to notice was particularly pastel colored, when he realized John wasn't behind him anymore. He turned around and saw their shopping cart parked off to the side with John in standing in front of a couple and their new baby. Sherlock frowned and looked around him. Oh, yes. So that's why the aisle was painted such absurd shades of pink and blue. It was the baby supplies section. Sherlock walked back down the aisle to John who was looking admiringly at the small baby in a young woman's arms.

"What's her name?" John asked, smiling. The young woman continued to bounce the sleeping baby in her arms, and her husband answered.

"Her name is Marie, after my Grandmother." John smiled at the man, who was beaming with pride.

"She's just beautiful." John said.

"Thank you." The mother said. John gave a little wave to little Marie who was just waking up, then turned and pushed the cart back down the aisle, Sherlock trailing behind.

"Wasn't she adorable?" John asked, as one of the store clerks scanned their items. Sherlock shrugged indifferently.

"I suppose so." John shook his head. Once the grocer was finished, he paid for the goods, and John and Sherlock headed back to 221b Baker Street.

John and Sherlock put away all the groceries, then Sherlock went over his computer to check for new messages on The Science of Deduction. John sighed and went over to the window.

"It looks like it will rain…" John trailed off, staring through the glass panes.

"Yes, I know." Sherlock said, rubbing agitatedly at his hair, which had gained a few inches in volume due to the humidity. John hummed, not really paying attention, and Sherlock glared at him. Why was John so distracted? Sherlock jumped up quickly and looked out the window, following his husband's gaze. Oh, god. Not another one.

"Look how small he is…" John cooed to it through the window.

"John that is pointless and rather ridiculous. It cannot hear you." John spun around and faced Sherlock so fast, the consulting detective was reminded of John's former status in the army.

"Sherlock that is a human being down there, _not an object_!" John stormed into the kitchen to start dinner, and Sherlock followed behind him, rolling his eyes.

"Oh for god's sake! It cannot even-" John glared at him and Sherlock quickly backtracked, "I mean he- cannot even hear me! Why are you so protective of someone that has the mental IQ of a caterpillar?" John slammed the refrigerator closed and walked over to Sherlock, his eyes throwing daggers. Though John was a good many centimeters shorter than his partner, he still managed to make Sherlock feel small with a glare like that.

"That's all that matters to you isn't it? A person's IQ, their intelligence?! Well, I'm sorry but it is impossible to _deduce_ a person's worth based off of something as-" John paused angrily, searching for the correct word. "Something as belittling as their intellect! We can't all be as brilliant as the famous Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock frowned, but suddenly became quite defensive.

"John, that is not what I meant, and you know it!" John stormed angrily over to the living room.

"Oh, did you deduce that as well?!" Sherlock threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"I don't know what to do, John! I can't win with you today!" John laughed without humor.

"Well! That would be a first, wouldn't it?" Sherlock stared at his husband, shocked.

"I don't know what I did to offend you, but whatever it was, I'm sorry John." John shook his head.

"No, you know what? Just forget it. Forget all of this. I'm sorry-" John stopped talking and shook his head again, before walking quickly down the hall to their bedroom and closing the door promptly behind him. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, left completely adrift from their sudden fight. It had happened without any explanation. Normally Sherlock could pinpoint the exact moment when things started to go awry before a fight, but this time there seemed to be no catalyst. Sherlock closed his eyes, still standing in the middle of the room, and went to his mind palace.

What had happened right before John started to get angry? What was there seconds before things started to go astray? Sherlock had referred to a baby as 'it' but… _Oh_.

Sherlock jolted and half-ran to their bedroom. He opened the door quickly and saw John sitting in the center of their bed.

"Sherlock, I want to talk to you." John said, eyeing him cautiously. John spoke quickly and his voice shook slightly with nerves. "I know what you're going to say, but just let me say this anyway. Sherlock, you are the love of my life and it made me the happiest man alive when you agreed to marry me. I want to take the next step with you. Sherlock, I want to raise a family. I want to have a baby."

* * *

_A/N: MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! :) Fear not! I will update this within the week! (And by that, I mean within the first week of April.) If I do not, feel free to leave pestering messages in my PM reminding me to get off my butt and update._


	8. The Unexpected

Chapter 8:

_"I know what you're going to say, but just let me say this anyway. Sherlock, you are the love of my life and it made me the happiest man alive when you agreed to marry me. I want to take the next step with you. Sherlock, I want to raise a family. I want to have a baby."_

John's words echoed in Sherlock's brain.

_"I want to have a baby."_

Sherlock stared at John. John cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the bed, so he was fully on the left side.

"Well, I've gotten that off of my chest. So, now you know." John turned a steady shade of scarlet and pulled the sheets over his legs. "I'm going to bed now. Please turn off the light when you're done changing." With that John pulled the covers up to his chin, rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes. Sherlock stared for a moment, perplexed. Then he crawled into bed next to his husband. He shook his shoulder.

"John." He didn't respond. Sherlock shook his shoulder more urgently. "John!" John turned over and faced Sherlock.

"What?"

"I was under the impression that you wanted to speak to me." John raised his eyebrows. "About something with great importance?" He prompted John. John cleared his throat.

"I uh, I figured I'd give you some time to think about it. Now that you know that's what I want… you can think about how it will affect you." John rubbed at his left temple and sighed. Sherlock blinked.

"John, I don't know what to think about." John frowned.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock shook his head to clear his thoughts and leaned against the headboard.

"This… All this is new to me. Being attracted to someone, falling in love… I've never experienced it before. I'm- I'm really just making it all up as I go along." Sherlock sighed heavily, as if it were some great burden to admit that he didn't know what he was doing.

"Sherlock, this isn't exactly a repeat for me, either." John said, scooting closer to his husband. He exhaled quickly and wrung his hands. "Look, we can talk about this tomorrow-" Sherlock cut him off, apparently not listening.

"I wouldn't know what to do." He said, frowning and staring at the wall opposite their bed. John looked over at the man beside him.

"I'm sorry?"

"If we had a child… I wouldn't know what to do John. I hardly knew anything about affection until I met you. I-" Sherlock stopped talking and placed his head on his knees, pulling at his hair with his hands. John put his arm softly around Sherlock's shoulders and leaned in next to him.

"Sherlock, I don't understand. What are you worried about?" Sherlock's shoulder's fell.

"Everything John. And that just makes me more worried. Sherlock Holmes doesn't get scared; he doesn't worry. And yet, here we are!" Sherlock lifted his head and rubbed his temples. "You were honest with me, so I'm assuming it is only right that I am too; I'm scared that I don't have enough emotion left." John frowned and tilted his head unconsciously.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you." Sherlock shook his head, but kept his eyes closed.

"I spent years distancing myself from my emotions. That way, it is easier for me to tap into my brain, easier to keep my mind palace free of useless…" Sherlock waved his hands in the air, searching for the right word. "… fluff! When you and I got together, I was happy. I was content; but also confused. Emotions and I had been apart for ages, and yet, here I was being ruled by them once more. Now here I am, fully and irreversibly in love with you. My whole heart is owned by you. Now we talk about adding another person into the mix. I'm afraid that because of all the years I spent, trying desperately to feel nothing, I won't be able to fix that. I won't have enough love for two people." Sherlock took a shaky breath and looked up at John, who was shaking his head.

"That isn't true Sherlock; you will never run out of love." Sherlock bit his lip in disbelief, but John took his face between his hands, demanding the consulting detective's attention. "If you won't listen to me, just look at the evidence all around you! Mrs. Hudson! You practically killed a man when she was hurt! What about Greg and Mycroft?" Sherlock snorted into his hands, but John was not deterred. "You deny it, but think about it. When push comes to shove, you have their backs, and you know they've got yours. You love so many more people than just me, and they all love you. You don't have to be worried about not having enough. Love is not a material thing, Sherlock. It is not something that fits into equations or experiments. It is a part of you, and no matter how hard you try, it will always be there, in your life. As will I." Sherlock nodded, and looked at his husband.

"John, I- I want to have a baby." John blinked.

"You do? You're not just saying that to make me happy? You actually want to start a family?"

"Yes John. I actually want to start a family." John's face broke into a large smile. He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock passionately and Sherlock responded with equal happiness. Suddenly, John pulled away and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

"We're going to be fathers! Sherlock, we're going to be dads!"

John sat at the kitchen table, papers strewn out in front of him. He sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead.

"This isn't going to be easy, Sherlock." Sherlock looked up from his perch on the couch.

"Why not? Just fill out the papers and we'll be all set." Sherlock spoke loudly as his head was shoved into the couch cushions, blocking out most sound. John looked over at his husband and raised his eyebrows.

"Why are you upside down?"

"It helps me think."

"Right…" John shook his head, and looked back down at the papers in front of him. "It's not going to be as easy as you make it sound Sherlock. First we have to fill out this application form, then if the form is accepted, we have to have a home inspection-" Sherlock cut him off.

"Inspection? What are they doing that for?" John sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You know perfectly well why they have to do an inspection. It's so that they know for certain the home they are sending a child to, is nice, welcoming, and above all, safe." Sherlock flipped over so his head was on the left side of the couch and his feet hung off the other arm rest.

"Oh, that just wastes time! We know that our house is safe! Why can't they take our word for it?" The words had hardly left Sherlock's mouth when suddenly, something banged in the kitchen and smoke filled the enclosed area. John dove out of his seat and crashed to the floor, per his army training, and crawled out into the living room. Sherlock hadn't moved.

"You were saying?" John wheezed. Sherlock shrugged.

"Nothing to be afraid of." He dragged himself off of the couch and walked to the kitchen to inspect the damage done to one of his experiments. John stood up and brushed himself off, following Sherlock.

"We need to talk about this, Sherlock." Sherlock apparently wasn't listening. He lifted a smoking and cracked beaker and placed it in the sink, running water over it. It steamed and Sherlock opened the newly replaced window.

"I'm serious!" John said loudly, taking his husband's arm. "If we're going to have a child in the house, we need to make it-" John winced as muted popping sounds came from in the sink. "-less like a science lab and more like a home." Sherlock frowned.

"You've never had a problem with my experiments before. Unless they've caused some sort of a disturbance to your everyday life. Why are you so worried now?" John decided it was better not to look into the sink and headed back towards the table and sat down.

"Because, I'm afraid they'll deny us our ability to adopt." Sherlock spun around faster than John thought possible.

"Why would they do that? We're perfectly safe people who are more than capable of taking care of a child." Sherlock spoke quickly, with a hint of defensiveness in his voice. John raised his eyebrows.

"Sherlock, something just blew up on the counter. Do you really consider that to be safe?" Sherlock sighed and took the seat beside his husband.

"Why would it not be safe?" He asked, looking confused. John started at the expression on Sherlock's face. It was rare to ever see him confused. John would put good money on the bet that he'd been the only one that has seen Sherlock when he is puzzled.

"I was trained by the army to react the way I did. I moved without thinking. If we had a small child in here, do you think they would duck that fast? They would get hurt." John looked up at the still smoking beaker in the sink. "Pretty badly too. Sherlock, we need to fix this." John gestured around the room. Sherlock followed John's hands with his eyes and sighed.

"I suppose you're right…" John started. Another rarity; Sherlock admitted John was right. Sherlock turned in the chair so he was facing John completely and placed his hand on top of the doctor's.

"Tell me what I can do. I- I really do want this to happen, so if there is anything I can do to stop people from holding us back, I will do it. Tell me what I need to change." John stared at Sherlock for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him softly.

"You don't need to change a thing-" the beaker in the sink gave off a menacing sounding pop and John shook his head. "-except maybe the nature of your experiments. But I don't want you to change anything about the way you work, alright? You are absolutely perfect the way you are." Sherlock smiled and squeezed John's hand underneath his own.

"As are you." John smiled and together, they made a list of things that had to be done before the inspection. (It was quite lengthy, but not impossible.)

* * *

That evening, while in bed, John found himself wondering how he had gotten to be so lucky. He was lying next to the world's (sleeping) only consulting detective, who was amazing and talented, and married to John Watson. They had a beautiful home, steady incomes, and now they were going to have a child.

John's life had taken an unexpected turn when he agreed to meet Sherlock Holmes at 221b Baker Street, but John wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

_A/N: So that's it! That was the last chapter of "When it's Unexpected". Don't worry though, I will be posting another story about John and Sherlock's life once they have a baby. :) Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, marked my story under favorites and followed. That means the world to me!_


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